


Three Scenes from Tiny Cooper's 2014 New Year's Eve Party that Will Definitely Be in His Autobiography

by frogy



Category: Will Grayson Will Grayson - John Green & David Levithan
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-20
Updated: 2011-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-27 14:02:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frogy/pseuds/frogy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three scenes from the new year's party Tiny throws during the first winter break from college.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Scenes from Tiny Cooper's 2014 New Year's Eve Party that Will Definitely Be in His Autobiography

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scintilla10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scintilla10/gifts).



> Unbeta'd. Let me know if you catch any mistakes so I can fix them.

1.

I. Am. Exhausted. Planning a party always sounds like a great idea. I think about all of my friends smiling, a soft focused blur in the flashing party lights, giving a toast, a pat my shoulder from so-and-so, a “great party, Tiny” from what’s-his-face, like a movie preview montage. I always forget all the worry, the pressure of being responsible for everyone’s good time. I just remember everyone having a good time after the fact, whether I’m staging my musical or chairing the drag ball or just having a New Years Party at my house.

Right now, one of the light bulbs has gone out on the giant 2014 and because of the darn series circuits the whole left arm of the 4 has gone out so it looks like it says 201(cross) on my front lawn. It looks like I celebrate some weird ‘keep the Christ in Christmas’ New Years hybrid than the ‘bring people happiness through the joys of consumerism and presents’ version than I do.

Plus, it’s colder than a witches tit out here. Not that I’d know. I’m all about the wizards. I mean, Neville Longbottom grew up to be quite the hottie. But, I’d still rather be out here than inside with the super-exes. I put Will and Jane in charge of the music because they’re my two most hipster musically inclined friends. It shouldn’t be that difficult for them to put together a playlist of techno remixes of indie ballads and singer-songwriters doing acoustic covers of dance party hits but it’s all “what are you think?” and “that is the worst song I’ve ever heard,” inside. They seriously need to get over themselves.

Which leaves me out here one by one trying to replace light-bulbs while rapidly loosing manual dexterity in my hands from the cold.

“Hey,” a voice says from behind, and I know the voice when I hear it but I spin around for visual confirmation. And I’m right. The much preferred Will Grayson of the moment is standing on my lawn, bundled in a black peacoat and matching beanie hat. I haven’t seen him since August when I left for college. He didn’t come home for Thanksgiving, and my parents took us to Aruba for our annual Christmas trip. I’ve only been back a few days, and between mopey Will and getting ready for the party I’ve been swamped. So I take a moment to look at him. Boy, is he a sight for sore eyes. Inside Will is growing an awful hipster beard that he can’t pull off at all. But I can’t see any changes for the worse in this Will. He looks as wonderful as ever. But, he probably he finds all the silence and staring awkward and uncomfortable, which I’m clued into when he says “here,” and holds out they type of tall narrow gift bag that can only ever come from the wine shop.

That leaves him wide open for a hug, and I wrap him up in my arms. “Hello,” I say, smiling. Changed or not, I’ve missed him. I take hugs seriously. Will’s not a touchy-feely guy. But, he’s been friends with me long enough to know that I’m not going to let go until there’s some reciprocation. When I feel the bottle he’s brought pressing into my back through the marshmallow effect of my coat, I let him go.

I take the bag from him, and pull the bottle out to see what he’s brought for tonight’s festivities. It’s a bottle of champaign, better than bottom of the line. For a moment I feel bad about the stocked fridge of champaign my parents bought me for the party. Oh well. “Thanks,” I tell him, letting the bottle slide back into the bag, and resting it carefully on the ground propped up against the 2.

“I can bring that inside,” he says.

“You don’t want to go in there,” I tell him. “Will and Jane are fighting over music.”

“Um.”

“And by music, I really mean relationship in this totally weird, displaced way.”

“So that’s what you’re doing out here.”

“That and I’m trying to find the missing bulb,” I tell Will, “want to help?”

“Uh, sure,” he says. “What do you need me to do?”

“We’re unscrewing bulbs one at a time and replacing them, until we find the culprit. You can start on the other side and we’ll work towards the middle.”

“Okay,” Will says, taking the box of christmas light bulbs I hand him and he dives right in, unscrewing a bulb at the bottom of the number.

I let myself look at Will while he’s distracted with the light bulbs, and can’t be bothered by my staring. I can’t stare too long though, because these lights need to be fixed, so far too soon I turn my attention back to the light-bulbs.

He’s still as quiet as ever so I fill the silence, telling him about Aruba and school, and the show I was in last semester. He laughs at all the right places until I ask. “What about you, how’s life at school?”

“Good,” Will tells me and I gasp.

“Good? Good? Is Will Grayson saying there’s something in his life that’s not miserable?”

“Hey,” he says, nudging me. “I’m not always miserable.”

“Not always.”

“Besides, your cheerfulness is just as unnatural.”

“Hey,” I nudge back, my turn to be mock offended before we fall into silence again, focussing on the task at hand.

But I hate quiet, even when I’m by myself. “Seriously,” I say, breaking the silence, Will apparently as quiet as ever, and because I’ve never been good at not talking about the things on my mind, “Will and Jane are driving me crazy.”

He laughs softly and says “you’ve only been back three days.”

“I know, but I just don’t understand how they could be like that to each other. If they love each other, even if they’re not together, why would they be that awful with each other?”

“You’re still friends with all your exes, aren’t you?” Will says like a sigh.

“All the ones I still talk to.” There’s plenty that I haven’t seen since we broke up, but I doubt I’d start being a jerk to them if we ran into each other in like, I don’t know, the grocery store.

Will sighs again. I should not be the weird one here. It’s everyone else who’s got the problem. Like even on TV or whatever I don’t get the whole “frenemies” thing. Why would you waste time being friends with someone who you don’t actually like when you could be spending time with people you do like.

“Don’t go sighing at me,” I say. “I dated them, clearly they didn’t suck.” Will snorts. “As _people_ ,” I add.

“You really are something,” Will says.

“Thanks. I know I’m wonderful.” Normally when someone says that it’s with a sneer that only means bad things. But Will’s an example of the idiom ‘if you make that face too much, it’ll stick like that.’ He’s spent such a long time being sarcastic and miserable that complements sound like he can barely tolerate you and totally mundane statements sound like he’s ready to bite your head off.

Will knows it about himself, and laughs. “You are,” he says. “Sometimes I don’t know why we ever broke up.”

The problem with working towards the middle is that we’ve been steadily moving towards the same place in the number so that we’re practically smushed together when he makes this proclamation. Will is standing practically in front of me, right next to the metal frame of the number arms squished up like he’s imitating a t-rex to get at the bulbs, while I’m reaching over and around him to get at mine. I can see him, but he has his back to me. I can’t see his face and I have no idea how to read a statement like that. I fumble with the lightbulb I’m unscrewing, before catching myself. One wrong elbow and I could take him out.

The fog from our breaths in the cold mingles into one joined cloud and if I don’t say something soon it’s going to be too long and I will have made something awkward.

“Tiny Cooper!” someone shouts behind me, and I spin around startled, arms flailing into Will as I go. “Sorry,” I mumble to him, hoping the marshmallowness of my winter coat took the brunt of it, before going to great his other guests.

2.

“I just don’t understand why she hates me so much?” Will says. The beeline I made to the drinks when I came back in was absolutely necessary if I was going to make it through Will and Jane’s fighting ruining the party. I may have over-calculated and it’s backfired. I’m sinking further and further into the black leather armchair that’s been pushed to the side of the open-plan living-room slash dining-room slash kitchen to make room for a dance floor in the center. Will’s in it’s partner, complaining about things that are utterly obvious.

“Because you broke her fuckin’ heart man.”

“But she’s the one who thought we should date other people in college,” Will whines.

“And you’re the moron who believed her,” I say half distracted by the buzz of party around us. The overhead lights are off, replaced by every lamp I could drag from the main house and blinking red christmas lights for disco-ball ambiance.

“Ugh,” Will groans, “I am terrible at this shit. As you can tell because of Jane.”

“Shut-up about Jane. Facebook tells me you’re dating a new girl anyway. Which means you are currently in one more relationship than I’m in.”

“It would be weird if I were in more than one relationship more than you. And it’s complicated,” he says.

“That’s not what Facebook says.” Facebook says ‘Will Grayson is in a relationship with Jessica Schmidt.’ But if it’s complicated with Jessica and Jane, Will _is_ in more than one more relationship than me.

Facebook is stunningly silent on another Will’s relationship status.

“What was I supposed to do?” Will asks. “Say no when she sent the request?”

All of Will’s relationship’s problems could be solved if he would just be a part of his relationships instead of blindly going along with whatever the other party wanted. If he wanted to stay with Jane, he shouldn’t have agreed to break up with her. If he doesn’t want to date this new girl, he should have said no. But I know by now this advice will be met with staunch refusal or stoney silence, or in one memorable occasion, the oxymoronic combination of the two, so I tune out his whining to watch Will.

Will’s awkward dancing, red party cup in hand, to a techno remix of Taylor Swift covering Mumford and Sons. I don’t know if it’s Will’s or Jane’s. It’s absurd that I know two people who could put this song on a mix and they’re _not_ dating. But again, Will doesn’t want to hear it.

Talking to dancing Will was easier than I remember now that he’s willing to enjoy his half of the conversation. His words aren’t facts or misery. Our exchange bounced on it’s toes as much as I do. I haven’t spent all this time pining for him or anything. There are too many fish in the sea for pining over hopeless boys who don’t want me. But, I can’t deny that I like him. He’s one of my best friends despite how confusing it is to have two best friends with the same name. And he’s as adorable as ever. Maybe even more so now that he’s branched out from the Pete Wentz wear. It was startling to see him in a bright red shirt and silver stripy tie, an Express mannequin at the mall come to life under his black peacoat.

“Will asked me why we broke up,” I say, more in a marvel that he may still want me than to Will, who’s still babbling on about his own issues. God, alcohol makes him chatty.

“And, like, am I supposed to turn her down when she shows up on Saturday night wanting to sleep with me?” Will asks before sputtering out. “Wait, what?” he asks, of course seeming to notice I still exist at exactly the wrong time.

But I’m too busy trying to unknow what I just learned about Will. “I can’t believe you’ve managed to get yourself an accidental fuck buddy.”

“No, about the other Will,” he says. “How did that even come up?”

I’m not about to tell him we were talking about he and Jane. No need to give him a big head. “We were talking about exes being friends, and he just said it. What do you think he was getting at?” I look back over at him having a good time at the party. This is why I throw parties, so my friends can have a great time. My work here is done.

“God, that’s like a million years ago,” Will says. “I have no idea. I think we’ve determined I’m crap at this.”

Will’s talking to some girls that hugged Jane when they came in so are presumably her friends from college. I like to think Jane didn’t invite a bunch of strangers off the street into my home. But if she did, at least she picked some nice ones. He must say something funny because they all break out in laughter. I want to know what it is.

But that would require getting up. I’m exhausted from going straight from Aruba to party planning mode. Combine that with the punch I’ve had and how far I’ve sunk far enough into the cushions of the chair beneath me that I could also just go to sleep now.

It’s too long of a pause to be a natural continuation of his last statement when Will speaks again. “It sounds like maybe he wants to get back together with you.” Will’s eyes are glassy with even more drinks than I’ve had tonight, so I’m willing to overlook it. I’m not sure if I’m overlooking the awkward pause or the statement itself.

"Hey,” a voice says from behind me. It’s easier to sink further down in the chair and tip my head back onto the neck of it than it is to sit up and turn around. So, when I see that it’s Jane, I’m looking up and her upside down.

“Hey Jane,” I say. Will doesn’t say anything.

“Come enjoy your party,” she says to me. She doesn’t acknowledge Will at all.

“I am,” I say.

“No,” she says. “You’re sitting in the corner letting Will be miserable at you. You should come dance with us,” Jane tilts at her college friends and/or strangers and Will, clarifying the ‘us.’ “This is one of my songs. Isn’t it awesome.”

I look at Will to see what he thinks. I don’t want to desert him. But he’s busy looking the other way, resolutely ignoring Jane. And whoever the ‘they’ is that makes up stupid sayings says that the way your year starts is how it continues. And I’d much rather spend a whole year dancing than falling asleep in an armchair. So, I heft myself up.

The room sways more than I was expecting before righting itself, a combination of the drinks I’ve had, the heat being put out by too many dancing bodies in the small living room of his guest house, and the swirling party lights in the dark of the room. I make a mental note to grab a glass of water next time I pass the kitchen. Will is glaring daggers at me now, but I just shrug. Now that I’m up I’m off to party.

3.

I get caught up with dancing and socializing and totally lose track of mopey Will Grayson. I don’t see him when I herd the part out to the front lawn at ten minutes to midnight. I can only imagine that cattle are half as difficult to corral as drunk party guests. The last time I was near a cow was a second grade field trip. But I manage it without the help of a partner (of the ‘Howdy’ variety) or noble steed. The party-goers have scattered across the lawn to graze.

Or, well, no, not graze. But we should be able to see the fireworks over the lake from out here.

And organizing has left me on the outside, observing everyone.

“Hey,” a voice from behind startles me. I turn around, and it shouldn’t be a surprise at this point that I keep finding myself with Will. I’m beginning to suspect that he’s doing it intentionally, seeking me out.

That thought is as invigorating as the cold winter air, shaking the world clear after the muggy, muddled heat of inside. It’s that giddy clarity that pushes me to say “So, I didn’t get a chance to tell you this earlier, but college looks good on you.”

“Thanks.” Will looks down suddenly fascinated by his shoes. He’s still not comfortable with compliments, but somewhere along the way he’s learned not to fight it. “You too,” he says.

“I love college,” I say shrugging, because it’s true. I love college. I loved high school too, although it was harder there. There’s no point in living a life you don’t love. It took a lot more work in high school, but I was going to love it one way or another.

College takes no effort to love. “I get to write songs for class, what’s not to like?, I say shrugging. It’s different than what I meant when I said it to Will, who’s smiled more in the last few hours than he has in the past two years of my acquaintance, but it’s no less true.

“Anything I can hear?”

I think about that, songs flipping through my mind in a cover-scroll. Songwriting for class is different than writing for myself. There are characters that aren’t me and assignments that require no less than four percussion instruments and “tone down the rhyming next time Tiny,” scrawled in the professor’s grading sheet. There’s a song about the silk road set to polka music which may be technically good but is so random it makes no sense out of context of the assignment. There’s that one feels too much like splaying my chest open so that everyone can see my heart, which is all wrong for New Years eve. And there are plenty of silly little ditties but Will’s heard plenty of those from me. And then I know exactly what to sing. Normally, when I sing, I want everyone to watch, but I want this to be for Will. So I keep my voice pianissimo and sing.

♩ ♪ ♫ ♬ ♩ ♪ ♫ ♬ ♩ ♪ ♫ ♬ ♩ ♪ ♫ ♬ ♩ ♪ ♫ ♬ ♩ ♪ ♫ ♬

“That was,” Will says softly, taking a cue from my volume, before trailing off.

“Thanks,” I say, glancing around. A few clumps of people nearby are glancing at us, but by and large everyone’s still caught up in their scattered conversations.

“No, really,” he says. “That was just incredible. You’re amazing.”

The air feels all that much colder against the heat that rushes to my face at his compliment. Will is impressed by so little. It seems almost unfair to everyone else that he deigns to give so much of it to me. So I don’t think about it. I could fall again for him so easily. “What about you?”

“What about me?” he asks, laughing at nothing.

I don’t get ask anything else about him because there’s a boom overhead. My head goes up automatically. There, to the right, over the tree-line are the red circle of firework sparks over the lake. There’s green and blue and gold dancing across the sky.

“I think we missed zero,” I tell Will, leaning down so he can hear me over the explosions above us.

“What?” he asks, voice pitched louder.

“The countdown,” I shout back. “We missed the ‘Happy New Year!’”

“Does that mean we can’t have a happy New Year?” he asks.

“Of course you can.” He of all people should have all the happy everything.

“Great,” Will says. And that’s all the warning I get before he kisses me sparks coming down to earth. I don’t think about the past. I think about how Will tastes like champagne and bubbles. I think about how I can feel how cold his nose is. I think about how his eyes are sparkling like the promise of a new year.

**Author's Note:**

> Scintilla10 -- I hope you like this. I took the prompt as a challenge to try and write in the same voice as the book with varying levels success. I spent a really long time trying and failing to write a song for Tiny to sing. You should feel free to imagine he wrote and then sung your favorite song there.
> 
> I was really struck in your author letter when you wrote that one of your favorite things in the book is "the fact that [Will's] depression is depicted as something he is living with" because that's also one of my favorite things in the book. And then I accidentally went ahead and totally wrote that out of this story. I think that's in a large part because Tiny can't understand Will's depression at all and the fic is in Tiny's POV. I also think the book is a low point for Will and that's still how Tiny thinks of him. First impressions stick and it's hard to notice a slow change in people you see all the time, so even though Will's a lot different by graduation Tiny barely notices. And going from high school to college is one of those massive life changes that could cause a complete 180 in someone. If the story were Will's, he would know how new and fragile and precarious it is. But Tiny takes it as due that people he likes deserve all the happiness in the world.
> 
> Taylor Swift has covered Mumford and Sons, but to the best of my knowledge no one has made a techno remix of it yet.


End file.
